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High Desert Literature
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Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: David Rheem Jarrett
Type: Fiction
Pages: 340
Copyright: June 9, 2014
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
A good and very capable man has been screwed once too often, and the results are not pretty! Set in the picturesque and eclectic university town of Berkeley, California, the story chronicles his quest for vengeance, stalking and punishing his victims one by one, but leaving no usable evidence behind. The two detectives assigned to capture him have few leads, and their job is made even harder by the pressures of their own romantic affair, complicated by secrets neither is willing to share. It is hard not to pull for this classic antihero, as he could just as easily be you, or me.
If you cheat a man out of his future, be prepared to pay the price -- vengeance is not always the province of the Lord.
A tough, resourceful, middle-aged man, Thomas Pickering makes a dangerous adversary. Hammered by the Great Recession, betrayed by his new wife, and robbed of his retirement savings by men he trusted, he uses his experience and talent to exact his vengeance on them in unique and creative ways. In the human chess game they are playing, his victims and the police have no chance -- they have rules to follow -- he does not.
Mike Kingman and Tess Brogan, the detectives assigned to capture him, have their own issues. Not only do they wrestle with problems of a developing love affair while trying to remain focused on the job, but Tess also finds she has a strange attraction to the killer.
From the Berkeley hills, to the Ghost Fleet of ships in Suisun Bay, to the towering Campanile in the center of the University of California campus, Pickering is always one step ahead, in a race that challenges his considerable intellect and skill, and tests the relationship of the two young officers.
Excerpt
Thomas Pickering had found Andrew Fisher’s address on the Contra Costa County Tax Assessor’s web site. In the posh bedroom community of Orinda, it was a palatial home, the type favored by Nuevo-riche with a penchant for creating monuments to themselves, replete with a cavernous barn whose stalls housed nothing but air. The large outbuilding did, however, complete the image of a wealthy family’s country estate, but it was merely an image, as Andrew Fisher was too busy wheeling, dealing, and playing to ever commit to having a family or managing an estate. The house was in a heavily wooded area along the San Pablo Dam road between Orinda and the small community of El Sobrante.
The home next to Fisher’s was vacant, an old legal notice of default still taped to the front door. Thomas had driven the black Suburban into the driveway and parked it in the RV parking area next to the garage. The car could not be seen from either Fisher’s house or the road, and any realtor bringing clients for a showing of the foreclosed property would think it to be an extra vehicle that had not yet been removed by the home’s unfortunate former owners.
Pickering moved through the oak trees until he had a good view of Fisher’s house. It was 6:00 A.M. and cold, with the fog still coming off San Pablo Reservoir and drifting toward Orinda, and he pulled the sweatshirt hoodie over his head and zipped up the down vest he was wearing. The thinsulate shooting gloves he had on protected his hands but still allowed his fingers to function well, and he focused the small binoculars when he saw movement through one of the large side windows.
A Hispanic woman in what appeared to be a uniform busied herself in the kitchen. A few minutes later, another young woman attired in a lacy robe appeared – Pickering assumed this was the current beautiful trophy wife. Every wife but his first had been several years younger than he, and this one was no exception. She sat, accepted a cup of what he assumed was coffee from the other woman, and chatted with her. Presently, the man himself came into the room, dressed for business in coat and tie.
Thomas imagined himself holding his Remington 700 with its 4X telescopic sight. He could put a .308 round right through Fisher’s head at this distance, but that would be too quick and easy a death. He had something more creative in mind.
Fisher had coffee with the two women, gave his wife a perfunctory kiss and headed for another part of the house. Two minutes later, the garage door went up and Pickering heard the throaty sound of a large V8 engine. As he watched, a new, metallic gold Porsche Panamera nosed out of the garage and down the driveway.
Pickering ran for his Suburban and managed to get it turned around just in time to see Fisher make a right onto San Pablo Dam Road toward El Sobrante. He followed – it was easy to keep the exotic car in sight – at $150,000.00 a copy for the turbocharged version, it was a real head-turner, and there were not many of them around. Fisher turned left up Wildcat Canyon Road into Tilden Park and accelerated. It had rained during the night, and the shoulder was soft and muddy, but the Porche stuck to the centerline like glue.
Pickering pushed the powerful Suburban to the limit, often catching the shoulder with the edges of the tires and splattering the shiny SUV with mud. It had the horsepower of the Porsche, but could not match it in either speed or handling ability through the twists and turns, and he soon lost sight of it. He knew the money man’s office was in downtown Oakland however, and if speed were the object of his commute, he would have turned left out of his driveway, driven back to Orinda and then through the Caldecott Tunnel on the freeway. That he went the opposite way meant Fisher enjoyed driving the hills in his powerful machine, and did not mind sacrificing time for the fun of driving the winding hilly route into the city.
Pickering had raced these roads often in hot rods and sports cars as a teenager and a young man, and he knew every twist and turn in them. He gave up the chase, slowed down, and drove leisurely past the Tilden Park golf course, exiting the park and intersecting Grizzly Peak just a few minutes from his house. His agile mind, now awakened from the lethargy retirement can bring, was now shifting into a higher gear. The neurons in his brain sparked and danced as his plan began taking shape. Randy Andy would get what was coming to him; it was only a matter of a little patience and a little time.
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